Fane liked busking. He got to see a collection of new faces as he played for spare change. He was doing well this month, having just gotten back from a stint on a ship. Fane didn’t need the money. He just liked playing.
With the violin tucked under his chin, Fane played a lively melody, attracting people interested in hearing the piece. He smiled at them, moving with the beat to encourage some of the younger audience to dance. Children dancing was always a great draw for patrons.
After a few lively numbers, the crowd was starting to wane, so Fane took a moment to rest for the next wave of patrons. He sat down to empty the cup of coins and glanced up. “I’ll be back to it in a bit, just resting the chin,” he said, noticing the shadow blocking out some of the light.
“your music is lovely,” moira leaned against the wall, her trusty mandolin resting on her back. “only thing lovelier is your face.” she winked and pushed herself off the wall. “seems the people agree with me,” she gestured to the coins in his collection. “you’ve got quite the crowd followin’ you. and so it seems do i.” she waved at one of the sailors who’d taken to following her hoping for some of her attention and perhaps more. “want to see if we can entertain ‘em together?”
the table roared in unanimous laughter at the expression and subsequent declaration that left the songstress’ lips ─ maddoc allowed a slight smile to slip through the impassive façade they had assumed once company had found them and dragged them into the festivities. while the boys had thrown back pints of beer as though it was a race to see who could be the drunkest or sickest first, they had stolen the small bowl of spiced nuts set at the center of the table, munching on the fried treats while watching the scene unfold. taking some pity on the girl that had been the latest casualty to their mischievous game ( something about switching up drinks with a condiment or herbal concoction until the unfortunate victim cracked under the disgusting flavor ), they flicked two fingers up to call for another round of drinks, choking back a snort at her threat.
❝ well, if the goat is roasted, with rosemary and butter, that’d be half true ! don’t sit with those fuckers, they like to torture each other and think everyone wants to be a part of their fun. ❞ a foot pushes a vacant stool towards the singer, chin jerking towards the offered seat in wordless invitation. ❝ have you been in nassau for long, miss ? don’t recall your singing the last time we were on land and i’d remember a voice like yours. ❞
moira laughed, sweeping up another glass and draining it without hesitation. the laughing crowd around her had her cheeks flushing with a pleasant buzz. “ahhh shite, you’re makin’ me hungry love! barmaid!!!” she collapsed into the chair next to the... man... who seemed content to act as a chair for her new friend. “’ve not been here too long- sailed in lookin for someone who may or may not be here. but if y’give me a reason t’ stay, maybe i will.”
“ you think a fella like that will fork out enough to get you a decent drink ? start working on the goat fucking song. “ cilla sits in the lap of one of the patrons, only giving him somewhat of her attention when necessary but she’s not being paid at the moment. he’s more so a piece of furniture in this moment. “ throw more farm animals in for every verse, it’ll have everyone here tickled. “
moira laughs, loud and unrestrained. “yes! fuckin’ a goat in the first and bein’ fucked by a pig in the next!” she plucked a few strings on her mandolin, testing out a tune. “i like you! you’re lovely! very pretty, beautiful eyes! even nicer lips!”
There was very few times Alistair ever enjoyed having the company of another person, and drinking in a tavern wasn’t one of them. He had tried to moved Moira along when she had sat down, however, when she had refused to leave him alone, Alistair had taken to shoving endless amounts of alcohol her way in an attempt to knock her out so that he could continue the rest of his night in peace.
Alistair let out a small chuckle at her words, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his grog as he did. “Ya might want to think that one through some more, lass” Alistair said, a smirk making it’s way onto his face. “Because if that’s the case, you’d be comparing your ma to goat”
“you shut your mouth ya sheep fucker!” with an unholy strength, she hurled the partially empty cup of piss ale at the man. “my ma was a god damned saint, a queen among men! The god damned fairies themselves proclaimed her queen of beauty, and just because you had good taste one time doesn’ mean you don’t fuck goats ‘stead of goin’ to church!” not that moira had been to church since she was a small girl. hard to develop a sense of religion when the rest of the townsfolk refused her and her ma entry most times. with an irritated huff, moira grabbed a pint from a nearby table, winking at the confused man whom had been drinking from it earlier. draining it in one go, she hurled the empty glass, aiming for the spot between her ‘father’s’ legs.
“that’s not even mine, what you’ve just had,” kane lies—or half lies. technically it is his drink, something a client bought for him not that long ago, as if this piss-poor excuse for alcohol was going to bribe him into extending the due date for paying off a debt. the man left after a few threats of losing a finger but forgot to take the ale with him and kane’s definitely not touching it; over his dead body. he should probably lower his standards, considering the kind of place this is. “please, people say worse things about me. get in line,” he waves the comment off; he looks into his cup, depressingly empty, but doesn’t wave the barmaid down yet. it’s still too early for him to drink himself into oblivion; who would’ve though, kane pacing himself for once. unlike the girl, it seems. “you look like you can barely fucking stand. i’m not getting you anything. better get to writing,” he chuckles.
“well whoever’s it was-” she leans back, hands cupping her mouth to make sure her words could be heard over the crowd. “the only reason you don’ know who your da is is because your ma worked on a farm!” the crowd roared with her energy and moira beamed at the attention. “awww, love, don’t you listen to them! you’re rather very pretty,” she winked, waiving down a passing barmaid. “beautiful, please, fill mine and my friends cups- goin’ to need somethin’ to wash that taste out of my mouth.” turning back to her new friend, moira sat herself in the chair across from him, adjusting her mandolin so it wouldn’t dig into her back too much. “now listen here, handsome. i grew up in places like this. i’ve not even started drinking seriously, so don’t you go thinking i need watchin. though, if you want to watch me for other reasons than patronizing me, i won’ be opposed.”
“ a goat, huh ? well that surely spurs someone into buying you a drink. “ dark hues roll but there’s humour in the curve of their lip. “ though, i must admit- i’m curious what you’d come up with. “ arms cross over a lithe chest, a brow raised in almost a challenge.
“well, love- if y’ don’t buy me a drink now, you’ll forever be known as the goat-fucker. and trust me,” she leaned forwards, dumping the remainder of the drink on the lap of a nearby patron. “that sort of name is goin’ to follow you around like a bad smell.” her eyes flicked down and crawled up their frame before settling on dark eyes. “no matter how pretty you are.”
she’d been singing nearly the entire night, keeping spirits high and the alcohol flowing as people shrugged their worries off at the door. but even she needed to take a break, and luckily she was not wanting for something to drink. if her mum could see her now, she’d be shaking her head as moira downed glasses of beer and ale in quick succession. her face screwed up at the strong taste of something that definitely wasn’t beer.
“yeergh- that taste like shit! you owe me somethin’ tasty now ‘r i’ll make song ‘bout how your cock doesn’t get up for anyone but a goat.”
💀 [ Saoirse Ronan | Cis Female | she/her | 20 ] 💀 hoist the black! MOIRA, the MUSICIAN, has arrived in nassau. the whispers in the square say that they’re allied with NEUTRAL and FRIENDLY, but can also be AGGRESSIVE. that is, unless you threaten HER PENDANT. beware the black spot.
From a young age, moira was surrounded by music. Her little village in Ireland lay on the coast, filled with fishermen who spent their evenings in the tavern her mother, Aine, worked in. they would sing shanties and songs until late in the evening, unintentionally singing the little girl to sleep as her mother earned enough money to keep a roof over their head.
On the rare night that moira’s mother wasn’t working, she and moira would take a blanket and sit by the docks, watching the gulls and waves as moira listened to stories about her father, the brave and dashing sailor who swept into town and left Aine with nought but a pendant carved by his hands and a child in her belly. Both of which she kept close to her heart where Aine said he would forever live.
All moira wanted was for her father to come back. She dreamed he would show up, a captain of his own ship, and take moira and her mother away from the village, the tavern, and all the hard nights working. But as she grew, those dreams faded, her heart hardening against the man who left her mother alone with a child in her belly.
When moira was eleven her mother met and soon married Cillian, a farmer from a few towns over who had moved to their small village. The village had cautioned him against marrying Aine, having never truly gotten over the fact that Aine had had a child out of wedlock with a passing sailor, but Cillian was a kind man and opened his heart to the girl who wasn’t looking for a father.
Things certainly became easier with Cillian in their lives, and Moira grew to idolize the man in the way she had once idolized her fictional father. It was Cillian who taught her to play the mandolin, something his father had taught him when he was just a child. She had already gathered a rather impressive collection of songs, but with the skills of playing an instrument, Moira took to earning coin in the tavern, playing music for villagers who had once spit upon her existence.
Life was well for many years, but soon Cillian and Aine fell ill after a particularly harsh winter. Moira had managed to avoid the illness, but with her parents unable to work, she took up all tasks around the house and continued to work in the tavern. A doctor lived in the next town over, and if she could just save up enough money, perhaps he would be able to heal her parents.
And earn enough money she did, but perhaps a few days too late as Cillian succumbed to the fever in the middle of the night while Moira performed in the tavern. But she pressed on, leaving her mother in the hands of a trusted neighbor and traveling to the next town to hire the doctor.
But all of her money and time was for nothing as the doctor was unable to do much for her mother. Moira buried her mother next to Cillian.
She couldn’t stay in the farm house she had lived in with her parents. She also couldn’t stand to enter the tavern her mother had worked in. The only place in the village she could find any peace in was the docks, watching the gulls and the waves. It was there that she realized why she had been spared the sickness. She had someone she needed to find. Someone she could take her anger out on. Someone who had never loved her mother the way her mother had loved him.
So she grabbed Cillian’s mandolin and the pendant her mother had so treasured, and Moira left the village with a name on her tongue.
Her search lasted for ages, but soon she found her way to Nassau, somewhere she had heard a man who matched the vague description she had of her father often frequented.
She was going to find this Alistair her mother had loved. What she would do when she found him- she didn’t know. But she was going to find him no matter what.
